Zandru's Forge (36 page)

They let their horses set an easy pace. The road dwindled and the land grew steeper and more rugged. First Hali and then Thendara, with all its noise and color, fell behind. As hours stretched into days of easy companionship, fellow travelers became even fewer. They stayed in simple but comfortable travel shelters that were placed a day’s journey from one another along the major mountain roads. Under strict truce, no man might draw a weapon upon another in a shelter, no matter how dire the cause. No sane man dared risk exposure to the Venza’s killing storms.

Toward afternoon on the fifth day, the clouds lifted altogether. They halted at the crest of a pass to let their horses breathe. Above them, a lonely hawk hovered against the sky. Varzil spotted what looked like a shadow across the distant hills. He pointed it out to Carolin, for the day was clear.

“Yes, that’s recent
clinngfire
burn. See how it stops at the rock seam?”

Varzil, searching with
laran
as well as vision, shuddered. Now that he knew what it was, he smelled it across the leagues.

“Sometimes I fear that you and I will see no end to such things,” Carolin said.

“I pray we are both wrong about that. I’m always being told,
Wait. Be patient. Let things develop in their own manner,
until I’m sick of it. I expect you hear the same things, too.”

“That I do, but I won’t give up and neither should you. Just because a pack of old donkeys can’t see past their own noses doesn’t mean the rest of us have to live that way. I have a whole court full of them to deal with! Not to mention the aunties of both sexes who think that nothing should ever be done for the first time!”

Varzil chuckled. Arilinn, too, had its share of conservatives. While few Towers were more prestigious, none were less likely to experiment. Sometimes Barak, the younger Keeper, acted as if preserving the past was so important, it overshadowed any other concerns.

“I agree,” Varzil said. “Whether it’s your pact or something else, we must never give up trying to change things for the better. Perhaps what’s wrong is that although people suffer the way things are, they don’t suffer enough. They fear what they don’t know far more than what they do.”

Carolin nudged his horse down the pass, loosening the reins so the animal could lower its head and set its own balance. “Maybe true change requires desperation. I hope it will not come to that. I cannot imagine anything more horrendous than what happened at Neskaya and Tramontana, and that didn’t have any lasting effect. The new Tower at Tramontana serves Hastur alone. There will be no shortage of
clingfire
when the next war comes. If the rumblings out of Asturias continue, that won’t be long.”

Varzil heard the disappointment in his friend’s voice that the new Tower at Tramontana had only increased the potential for destruction. “Someday,” he said, “when I am Keeper and you are king, we won’t have to do things as they have always been done.”

“We will rebuild Neskaya Tower,” Carolin replied. “Not as yet another source of dreadful
laran
weaponry, but as a symbol of peace and hope. Upon my honor, I swear it.”

“Look!” Carolin pointed. “Can you see the lake?”

This morning, they had come down from the hills into rolling pastures. Graceful, water-loving willows lined the many streams. The land itself smelled fresh. Varzil spied an oval of blue, like sky made liquid and collected in a cup, a sprawling manor house, lawns dotted with shade trees, gardens with low rock walls, and the rows of a small orchard.

“It’s not as exciting as court, but it was a grand place to grow up in,” Carolin said.

Varzil thought of his own home at Sweetwater, the rugged land, the herds of cattle and horses. In comparison, Blue Lake was a princely estate. It did not have to support itself, although it looked as if it could easily do so.

As they went down toward the river and denser woods on either side, Varzil began to grow uneasy. The day was fair, the birds trilling to each other in the branches. Carolin talked on, sharing memories from his boyhood, the little stag pony which had been his first mount, the red leather belt he and Orain had come to blows over, stealing berry scones from the kitchen without getting caught and then finding out Cook had left them out for him. Varzil heard the happiness shine through Carolin’s words.

With a cry, a rainbird took wing from the undergrowth in front of them. Varzil’s horse snorted and pranced as if the tiny bird were a giant carnivorous banshee on the hunt. He kept his seat with an effort. A faint prickle crept up his spine.

“What’s the matter?” Carolin asked.

Varzil shook his head, but he was already scanning the open sky. With the river gleaming through the bushes, the air felt heavy and damp. He’d be happier once they were in the open, though he could not explain why. These were not wild woods. There would be no wolves or Trailmen lying in wait. This deep into Hastur territory, they had little to fear from an armed assault. The most dangerous part of their journey had been the passage through the Venza Hills. The road had been peaceful and until now, Varzil had felt perfectly at ease.

Settling himself again in the saddle, Varzil reached out with his
laran.
He touched the curling river currents, the sleepy green peace of the woods and surrounding pasture land. Bits of brightness marked livelier minds—silvertrout, fox, rabbit-horn, the rainbird’s nesting mate....

The edge of the thought trailed across Varzil’s mind like a molten brand. He jerked alert.

—
Carolin spinning through the air, his back arched, arms flung wide, a blossom of crimson unfolding across his blue-and-silver jacket
—

In front of him, Carolin rode easily, now glancing back over his shoulder. His black mare bobbed her head, ears relaxed, tail swishing an errant fly.

Varzil clamped his heels into the sides of his horse. The animal surged forward. Its hindquarters bunched, ears flattening against its skull. He lashed it with his mind as well as his heels. Within a stride or two, it was at full gallop and even with the rump of Carolin’s horse. Varzil caught the expression of amazement on Carolin’s face, the quick movement as the black mare threw up her head.

A slender shape like a splinter of silvery metal burst from the tangle of brush ahead of them. If Varzil’s horse were not already at a gallop, he could never have reached it in time. It pierced the air, emitting a thin whine. He grabbed a handful of his cloak and thrust it in front of the sliver. At the same time, he gathered his
laran
like a battle hammer and brought it smashing down. Something within the device shattered.

The lined wool of Varzil’s cloak slowed the sliver’s progress. Momentum pulled him from his horse. He hit the road in a snarl of cloak and legs, but he had the thing wrapped.

“ Aldones!”
Carolin dropped to the ground and rushed over.

The impact of Varzil’s fall knocked the breath from him. His cloak twisted sideways around his shoulders, much of it bunched up in his hands. He didn’t dare loosen his physical grip until he was certain that the thing—whatever it was—was truly inert.

Carolin reached for the bundle.

“No, don’t touch it! It isn’t safe!” Varzil said.

With his mind, Varzil explored the device. It reeked of
laran
technology, glass and metal, though he had never encountered its like before. He’d heard of mechanical birds in which a
laranzu
could send forth his consciousness over great distances, akin to the link with sentry birds but without their fleshly limitations.

This one was too small for such a task. It did, however, contain a starstone chip.

Varzil told Carolin to stand back while he slowly unwrapped his cloak. The gleaming dart was perhaps a hand’s length from tip to slightly rounded belly. Fins of metal ran its length for balance and guidance. A tiny starstone winked at its tapering head like a malevolent eye. “That
thing
—”Carolin began.

Varzil did not respond, for at the sound of Carolin’s voice, the dart began vibrating. He tightened his grip to hold it fast. He felt rather than heard a faint, ominous humming from its core. The sensible thing to do would be to take something solid—a rock if there was one to hand, or the hilt of a dagger—and smash the starstone. The thing had been aimed at Carolin, and might yet prove deadly if it pierced his flesh. Yet some instinct held him back. Destroyed, its secrets would perish with it.

He thrust deeper into the thing with his mind. The starstone was a guidance device, of that he was certain, but it did more. In a flash, he realized that it generated an energy field that masked the contents of the body. The barrier gave way under his determined probing.

A mote of the caustic burning stuff lay within a fragile glass bubble. Even the lightest impact would crack the vessel, releasing its contents into the flesh of its victim. There it would ignite, burning away vital organs, muscle and bone until there was nothing left to be consumed. Neither water nor smothering blankets could extinguish it, and it would spread to anything combustible that came into contact with it.

It would be a death of screaming torment. Men had been known to slit their own throats rather than endure the pain of
clingfire.
A victim’s only hope was to cut away all the flesh around the burning area.

Varzil recoiled in horror. The dart was designed to place the
clingfire
deep within the victim’s body—within
Carolin’s
body—where there would be not the slightest hope of rescue.

Carolin bent over Varzil’s shoulder. “It’s some kind of killer device. I don’t recognize the exact type. There was a report of such things at the
Comyn
Council last season.”

“Someone is making these—these—?” Varzil’s mouth filled with bile.

“No legitimate Tower, at least none that will admit to it,” Carolin said. He reached one hand toward the dart, which quivered even more strongly. Reflexively, he drew back. His face paled.

“It’s keyed to
me.”

“Yes, and whoever sent it is still here ... nearby.”

Varzil tightened his grip on the device. Even through the folds of his cloak, he felt its thrumming as a sickness in his blood. It was not alive, but it carried the intent of its master. With one hand, Varzil freed his own starstone and focused on it. Within moments, he overshadowed the vibrational pattern of the chip. The humming ceased, although the linkage to the guiding mind remained. Whoever had sent this thing would believe it still active, at least for the next crucial minutes....

Varzil cast his telepathic sense like a net over the surrounding woods. He felt Carolin link with him and used the stamp of Carolin’s personality as a resonance, a lure. The killer would be thinking of Carotin—

Moving silently, Varzil and Carolin crept along the road. Carolin slipped his short sword free from its scabbard, slow and easy, almost soundless. Varzil felt the killer’s mind, knew exactly where the man crouched. Aside from the river itself, there was only one path of escape. He pointed for Carolin to position himself there.

Varzil took out his small traveling knife and pried the starstone chip loose from the dart. The
clingfire
would have to be disposed of later, preferably in a Tower. He placed the chip on a rock and, using the hilt of his knife, smashed it.

There was a sudden rustling in the brush along the bank, a body thrashing. Varzil felt the man’s mind reel in shock and surprise. Shouting, Carolin rushed forward. Varzil left the dart, still wrapped in his cloak, and pushed his way to the river.

A man in a worn leather vest lunged into the water, splashing wildly. His movements were uncoordinated, the river current strong. He lost his footing and went down just as Carolin jumped into the water.

They floundered in the hip-deep water. Carolin hauled the other man upright, one hand twisted in the man’s collar, the other holding the short sword to his throat. He half-dragged, half-prodded the man toward the bank where Varzil waited. The man struggled, arms and legs flailing, but he could not resist Carolin’s expert hold.

Carolin threw the man down on the rocky bank of the river. Panting heavily, the man lay against the crushed reeds and moss-laced stones. Varzil knelt and peered closely at the man. Blue eyes glinted in a darkly bearded face like chips of cloudless sky. The man’s mouth worked soundlessly. A mixture of rage and terror emanated from him.

“Who sent you?” Carolin snarled. “Where did you get that thing?”

“Let me do this.” Varzil placed one hand on Carolin’s arm. He had not the Alton Gift of forced rapport, but he could do far more, mind to mind. He reached out with his
laran,
only to meet a shield like twisted clouds. It wouldn’t be hard to penetrate, given the man’s fear and confusion.